Day 4: On showing up

What does a yogi or yogini look like?

Tall, thin, buns of steel, guns perfectly defined, exceptional limber, beatific smile upon the face, eyes dreamily half-closed, rad dragon tattoo over the shoulder.  Right?  That's how a yogi - an American yogi, that is - looks in my mind's eye.

Then there's the Indian yogi in the loin cloth, long grey hair, and marigold mala.  Perhaps with some colorful paint on his face. Possibly with a bit of a belly.  Still with the beatific smile, though.

Like 19th century Yogavatar Shyama Charan Lahiri, also known as Lahiri Mahasaya, described in Autobiography of a Yogi.

 Matching neither of these descriptions myself, I've never identified with the name.  A yogi was someone else, someone who had practiced for a long time, someone who went on retreats, someone who practiced at home.  Someone who used the term 'practice.'  I was just someone who went to yoga class.

But when I had to introduce myself to the other 40 day challenge yogis, I realized that eleven years is quite a bit of experience with yoga, and studying in India did make me rather dedicated.  Then when the instructor of the first class during the Challenge identified the "40 day challenge yogis," and the rest of the class applauded, I realized that maybe the flexibility, and slenderness, and tats didn't matter so much.  What mattered was showing up.

The dilemma of the modern wife

With the light slanting to indicate autumn, and the Bay Area temperatures finally approximating summer, I am transported to this time last year, and eagerly anticipating our first wedding anniversary six weeks from now.

During that week, Eric and I both have work-related travel scheduled.  I was adamant that we should be together at least some time during the weekend on which our anniversary falls.  He'll return from the east coast a day before I have to depart for an annual departmental retreat.

But wait!  I've been invited to a week-long planning meeting for a really interesting project in Asia the same week.  Participating in the meeting would mean missing the departmental retreat, and leaving the US two days before our anniversary.  This, after I insisted that he get home in time to celebrate! 

The timing feels like a cosmic joke:  take the romantic route, choose to celebrate your anniversary on the actual day; or take the professional route, and jet off to Asia instead.  To be clear,  Eric is absolutely fine with me grabbing this opportunity now, and celebrating our anniversary with a long weekend up the coast later in the fall. 

I'm the romantic here: we have a first anniversary only once, and I'd like to eat thawed wedding cake and dance around in my wedding dress on the actual day.  The practical and ambitious side of me knows this is a great opportunity, and I'd be foolish to pass it up.  Still, do they have to be on the same day? 

What would you do, oh recent wives and brides-to-be???

Furla Fashion Fumble

After two weeks in Italy - which included four days in Milan, the fashion capital of the WORLD, and home to the flagship stores of such luminaries as Dolce & Gabbana, Prada, Versace and Emilio Pucci - I came home empty-handed. Somewhat unbelievably.

When we left for Italy, my plan was to buy a decent handbag to upgrade my professional image, and more than likely, a pair of shoes, because, well.... I love shoes and Italians make wonderful shoes. With a plan and a full day on my own while Eric was lecturing, it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that I would score some stylish Italian accessories.

But: NOTHING!

My tour of the "Golden Quadrangle," Milan's fashion center, left me feeling a bit out of my element. If Gucci and Prada don't fit my lifestyle at home, what was I doing at these glitzy stores in Milan? When a $1200 evening gown at Valentino began to look reasonable (because, uh yeah, I have so many black tie events to go to...), I knew I had to get out of the neighborhood.

On the way to yet another cathedral, Eric and I passed a Furla shop. Angels were singing and a beam of light landed on a perfectly balanced, stylishly simple handbag. Laaaaaaaaaa!

I lust after these Italian handbags, but at $400-500 in the US, they're quite a bit out of my price range. When we stopped to admire the bags, I noticed that they were around 200 Euros. Still expensive, but far less than at home.

Much to my dismay, I paused. I choked.

My shopping karma deserted me.

We kept walking. I didn't throw down my credit card for one of those buttery-soft leather confections.

Now I see delicious handbags everywhere,

patkas, via Simply Lovely

Morelle, who is sadly closing her shop.

or maybe it's still open here.

but they do not measure up to my Furla dreams.

Today's travel lesson: Know your exchange rates inside and out, so you can quickly calculate in your head (200 Euros = $247, fully half the price of a Furla bag purchased in the US!).

Also, know the approximate cost of things you are thinking of buying, easy to research on the web. I didn't fully realize the price differential between a Furla purchased in Italy and one purchased in the US until I got home and checked Furla US's website. Had I been aware of this difference, I might not have choked!

Whither spring?

Another rainy weekend. Following on a too busy week. Many, minor professional ups and downs for the Mr. and myself, all part of our crazy, wonderful lives in academia. The fabulous - and frustrating - thing about academia (or is it life?) is that it's always in flux, never predictable. Opportunities arise and fall away. Decisions are ever pending, ever changeable.

I learned about an amazing post-doctoral position across the country. Was it the sublime opportunity to do months of uninterrupted writing that would result in numerous published articles and a book, catapulting me to academic fame - or at least tenure? Or was it a siren song, threatening to draw me away from all that I love: my home, my friends, my job, the Bay Area, and most of all, my new husband? Husband wants what's best for me; I want what's best for our marriage.

My dissertation advisor and current departmental chair encouraged me to apply, suggesting that the prestige of a postdoc could only enhance my future career success. Another advisor, who knows me better, discouraged me, pointing out that I've 'got it made' with a job and husband in a place I love.

It's hard to know what to do. Initially, I planned to apply, thinking that the chances of getting it are relatively slim anyway, and I could sort out my decision if and when I came to that. On the other hand, there's nothing in me that wants to move across the country right now... but is that just exhaustion, following on the heels of a year full of transitions?

One more week until spring break - to be spent catching up on home and work tasks. Including getting hooked up with my new doctor and dentist, because, according to this stress test, via 2000 Dollar Wedding, I have "High susceptibility to stress-related illness." Yikes.

Spring break, and even better, SUMMER, can't come soon enough.

If it were sunny, I'd be wearing this

or this

with this, via Oh Joy!


or this

Not *just* a bride

Reading Sara Cotner's thoughtful response to Hortense's tirade about becoming an Officially Engaged Person inspired me to come out of the closet as an Ambivalent Bride. Don't get me wrong: I am thrilled to be marrying the spectacular Mr. Barefoot who is as fun and talented and fascinating as they come. But the whole bride thing has had me tied up in knots for weeks. It's good to know that others share my distaste for the Wedding Industrial Complex, as well as the societal message that this is the Most Important Thing You've Ever Done.

Sara said it so perfectly, I just have to quote her verbatim:

It's sad to me that a person can do all sorts of meaningful and important things with their lives and yet getting engaged seems to trump them all.... . Over the years, I've announced amazing job offers, my decision to go on a self-subsidized sabbatical and travel for a year, awards I've won, etc. When I announced that I was getting married, I received more responses than I ever had before.

I had the same experience. By the responses I got, getting engaged seemed to top all my other professional accomplishments, which include winning prizes, research grants and awards, and being invited to present at international conferences. In the societal eye, these matter little next to Hooking the Guy. Whatever comes next will no doubt be better, now that I have someone to share it with, but I hate the society discounts our single life, implying all that was preliminary to finding the Right Guy. My single life was just as important to me as my newly coupled life, and entirely gratifying in different ways. Maybe I was able to accomplish all that I did because I was single, pouring my focus and attention into my work and personal pursuits.

I can certainly see the converse: now that I'm engaged, my attention is split between my professional work and planning a big blowout party. Which I am very excited about, but neither the party, wedding or ring is the be all and end all. The much more significant and meaningful moment was that one that was just the two of us on the beach when we decided to get married.